


Blame and Resolution

by SyntheticWinter



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1246168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyntheticWinter/pseuds/SyntheticWinter





	1. Blame

There were dozens of people Jack could blame for what happened.

The 456, for coming here in the first place.

The government, for being unable to stop them.

UNIT, for _also_ being unable to do anything. Where the hell were they, anyway?

Gwen, for sending Rhys to safety instead of Ianto.

Ianto, for refusing to stay behind.

The Doctor, for un-fixing his vortex manipulator so he couldn’t get Ianto _out_ of there.

Every single person in the world who had a child, simply for presenting a target.

In the end, he blamed himself. For his complicity in the first deal with the 456. For letting Ianto come with him on this crazy-stupid endeavor. For daring to hope, allowing himself the comfort of a dream he’d long given up on. For letting himself fall in love.

Never before had he wanted so desperately to stay dead, to wallow in the dark, cold emptiness forever. At first, he thought maybe he had. But then his eyes opened to Gwen and the row upon row of body bags and the only one among them that mattered.

He’d known it would happen, but that sure as hell didn’t make it any easier.

He left Gwen there at Thames House, just got up and left.

And stopped, right outside the doors, unsure of where to go.

Cardiff was so very far away, and anyway, the Hub was gone, and Ianto’s flat was… out of the question.

In the end, he returned to the warehouse they’d been using as a temporary base of operations. He didn’t know where else to go. He’d barely stepped through the door and tossed his coat in the general direction of the couch when he froze. The wave of emotion that hit at the sight of Ianto’s coffee machine threatened to choke him, and he spun around, blindly reaching for his coat. When his fingers didn’t immediately close on it, he decided he didn’t care. He had to get out of there, _now_. He could always get another coat. Except, he hadn’t the faintest idea where to look. Ianto would know…

He hovered in the doorway, undecided, before giving up on the coat altogether. Just another damn reminder of Ianto, anyway.

He was too restless to drive, so he set off on foot, wandering the streets of London aimlessly for hours. Eventually, the thought wormed its way back into his brain to return to Cardiff. It was, after all, where he’d felt the most at home in the last… what, now, century? God, he’d rarely felt so old.

But the city was different now, emptier.

There was nowhere left for him to go. Everywhere were reminders of Ianto: the smell of coffee from a corner shop; the restaurant where he’d taken Ianto on their first and (regretfully) only date; the dry cleaner he knew Ianto liked best.

He eventually ended up on a rooftop overlooking what he considered his city. Proprietary, maybe, but accurate and, he believed, fair. It had, after all, he thought somewhat bitterly, been built on him, just as Gray had wanted. Even here, though, Ianto’s ghost was present, in the memory of all the times he’d come up here to find Jack when the older man was off sulking or brooding. Ianto had always seemed to know when he needed company and when to leave him alone. Just another thing he would miss now.

And just like that, he found he couldn’t stay here. He fled blindly, uncaring who saw him or what they thought. He just knew he had to get out of there, as far away as he could. He was done with Torchwood, and with UNIT, and with the entire goddamn Empire. He hadn’t wanted to do this job in the first place, and maybe he’d become accustomed to it, but now there was nothing left to tie him to anything.

If they rebuilt, he mused half-dazedly, somewhat stunned by the enormity of his own decision, Torchwood Three would need a new leader. Gwen wouldn’t want to, with the new baby, and Martha had a family of her own, and-

He stopped short. That was it. The three of them were all that was left of Torchwood Cardiff. The thought sent a fresh pang through his chest

He turned and started for the only place he knew of that was left, the one place he could hitch a ride _off_ this damned planet.

* * *

He’d told the pilot it didn’t matter where he ended up, so when he found himself on an international space station light years from Earth, he shrugged, paid his fare, and disembarked.

The next few weeks were a blur of waking and sleeping, occasionally forcing himself to eat something. Not much – he couldn’t stomach it. Nothing had ever hurt this much.

There were other problems.

The dreams, for instance.

The first time he woke up hard after a dream-memory of Ianto, he couldn’t bear to take care of it himself. He glared at his dick resolutely until it deflated on its own, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

He woke an hour later, drenched in sweat, gasping, tears streaming down his face and the echo of Ianto’s last words in his mind, and his own inadequate response.

_“Don’t.” The lump in his throat and the iron band around his lungs strangled the rest._

_Don’t speak; save your breath._

_Don’t say goodbye._

_Don’t love me._

_... Don’t leave me alone. Please._

Needless to say, he slept as little as possible.

* * *

Months passed, but he barely noticed. The ghost of Ianto and the emptiness in his own chest a constant presence in the otherwise empty world.

That’s all he had now, a memory that was fading slowly day by day and an ache that wasn’t.


	2. Resolution

No matter how much he traveled, how far he ran, he couldn’t seem to get far enough away.

The memories of Ianto stalked him constantly, always there, pressing at the edges of his mind, taking it over when he let his guard down. Memories of their first (real) kiss, their first date, the first time they made love. And memories of those last few days, of shoving Ianto onto the lift, to safety, of arguing, of pushing him away. Of holding him as they both died.

All were painful, the good as well as the bad.

He tried to avoid the memories as much as he could. Staying busy. Drinking, when it came to it. And moving, always moving.

But sometimes, none of it was enough.

So it was that the Doctor found Jack in an intergalactic bar, staring morosely into his drink, thinking about all the things he should have done differently, all the things he should have said, all the ways he could have saved him.

A note was slipped in front of him and he glanced up. When he saw the Doctor across the room, he felt a momentary flicker of hope. The chance to run, to fight, to be so constantly _in motion_ and _busy_ that he didn’t have _time_ to think.

He unfolded the note, not sure what he was expecting, but it surely wasn’t what he got.

Four words: _His name is Alonso_.

He glanced back up questioningly, and the Doctor nodded toward the man sitting next to Jack. Anger flared low in his gut. Maintaining eye contact with the Doctor the entire time, Jack slowly crumpled the paper into a tiny ball, then stood and walked away.

Unbelievable. He was furious. That the Doctor could even _think_ he would just jump into some random guy’s bed so soon after…

He made it as far as the corridor outside the bar before he had to stop. His fingers curled into a fist, and before he realized it his hand was on fire from the solid punch he’d delivered to the metal wall. He did it again, and again, and was starting to wonder if it hurt more than he thought it did since his vision was starting to blur. Fingers closed around his wrist before his next punch could connect.

“Jack.”

Just his name, but it broke him.

He whirled around, angry tears leaving trails down his cheeks as he glared at the Doctor. “What?” he demanded defiantly, _daring_ the Time Lord to ask what was wrong, or to tell him it was okay, or that it would be, or that there was nothing he could have done, or any of the other meaningless platitudes he might drag out.

Instead, the Doctor merely stood there, and for some reason it only made Jack angrier.

For the first time he could remember, he wanted to hurt the Doctor more than he wanted to hold him.

He took a deep breath and a step back, hands clenching into fists even as he restrained himself.

Finally, when he felt like he could speak without shouting or crying, he said quietly, “I lost him.”

The Doctor nodded. “I know.”

“I lose _everyone_.”

“I know.”

Jack shook his head. “No, you don’t. You think you do, but you don’t. I _loved_ him, and I never told him. And now he’s gone. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To lose everyone you’ve ever loved, to _know_ that you’re going to lose them even while you still have them?” Jack was nearly shouting by this point. He made a hard, bitter sound that at another time might have been a laugh. “No, you don’t know. You-”

“I lose everyone, too!”

Jack took another step back in surprise, but the Doctor didn’t seem to even notice. His eyes were burning as he spoke, his voice quiet and precise and hard. “Martha left, Donna’s forgotten me, she’s had to, and Rose-” He broke off.

Jack made a derisive sound. “But did you _love_ any of them, Doctor? Any of them?”

The Doctor opened his mouth, seemed to reconsider and closed it. Finally, he said, “All of them.”

Jack was already shaking his head. “Fine. You may have loved them, in your own way, but you weren’t _in love_ with any of them. Losing them, it never felt like your chest was being ripped open, like the _one good thing_ in the world was being torn away, like you were _ending_.”

“Oh, it does. Every time,” the Doctor murmured, almost too quiet to hear. But Jack heard him.

“I _loved_ him, you bastard, and you did _nothing_. Where were you when the 456 attacked, huh? Why didn’t you come save the day like you always do? _Why didn’t you save him?!_ ”

The Doctor was looking at him solemnly and with so much compassion that Jack had to look away.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Jack took a shuddering breath, then another. “I know,” he whispered, and then the tears were falling again, chasing each other down his face as he stood in the middle of the crowded hallway. The Doctor reached for him, and he went. For once, he didn’t have to be the strong one, the one everyone else looked to and leaned on. For once, he could just let go.

So he did.

He clung to the Doctor, face pressed into the Time Lord’s shoulder as he let the tears fall. He hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of crying until now, and as with everything else, he did it with abandon, not caring what he looked like, or that people were walking by.

Despite his angry words, Jack knew he’d found the one person who _did_ understand, even a little bit, what this felt like.

When he was done, he drew back with a soft laugh and an embarrassed apology, but the Doctor only nodded.

A moment of silence while the two men simply stared at each other, oblivious to passers-by and the looks they occasionally got.

Finally, the Doctor spoke. “I do understand, Jack, and I _am_ sorry.”

Jack nodded wordlessly, emotionally exhausted. He’d run the gamut in the last half hour, and it had drained him.

“I know,” he whispered. “But he’s still gone.” _And I still have to live with that._

Another pause in the conversation. Jack had rarely seen this Doctor be so quiet for so long, but the moment was deserving. “I have to go soon,” the Doctor said at last, and Jack nodded again. Neither even mentioned the possibility of Jack accompanying him; both knew it wouldn’t happen.

Jack turned to go, but the Doctor called him back. “Jack.” He turned, raising a questioning eyebrow, not yet trusting his voice not to shake or break apart. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but… I don’t think it will be this me.”

Jack was instantly concerned. “Are you alright, Doctor?”

The Time Lord waved his hand dismissively. “Fine, fine. But I do believe I’ll regenerate soon.” Jack opened his mouth again, but the Doctor cut him off. “It’s fine, Jack. Not like I haven’t done it before. I just wanted to see you once more, before… well, before. And now I have,” he added brightly, but the smile dimmed immediately. “I am truly sorry about Ianto.”

Jack acknowledge this with a quick jerk of his chin, the lump in his throat once at the other man’s name once again all but preventing speech. The Doctor nodded once, sharply, then turned and strode away. He didn’t look back, though Jack watched until he lost him in the crowd.

Somehow, it felt like he’d lost them both.


End file.
